Lost Complex
by mickeylover303
Summary: "It was wrong, she knew, so very wrong, but here, it was just between the two of them, and he didn't seem to mind when he shuddered at the I won't tell she whispered against his cheek." AU. Warnings inside.


_Please to be warned for incest, dubious consent, and dark themes._

_Really, I don't know what this is, where it even came from, but this is was it came to be; I can only leave it at that, because I'm still not sure what happened here.  
_

...

**Lost Complex**

Sometimes, she wishes she didn't follow him that day. She can't do anything about it now, isn't sure if she really wants to if she could, but maybe then her world wouldn't be full of too many _maybes_ and _what-ifs_ and the underlying _whys_ that refuse to go away every time she kisses him.

But on those days when he'd disappear without a word on weekends for hours at a time, she'd be left to wonder, grew increasingly worried despite the encouraging looks from her dad who said it was the kind of thing fifteen year old boys did. Yet the reassurances only served to scare her, make her tighten her grip on their only relationship keeping them together now drifting them further apart, and the one day she decided to follow Sasuke took her from Matsumoto station all the way to Shinjuku.

The entire ride, her hands wouldn't stop reaching for her jean shorts, curling and unfurling and pulling the hem towards her knee. More and more she became concerned about where he could be going, what was so important to travel nearly three hours and took up so much of his time away from their friends and family—from her.

She was his sister, so she had a right to be more than curious. She had a right to be worried. She had a right to care that she almost lost sight of him again when he disappeared into the bathroom area. Fiddling with her little white purse, she waited and waited by the information booth, pretended to be waiting for someone else as the second hand on the large clock continued to tick all the way to a quarter past two, and then she saw it.

She saw _him_.

She recognised the dress first. The frilly pink dress too tight around the waist and too loose around his hips that almost rendered him frail, it was her dress too small she still kept in the box of clothes she was supposed to get rid of, but he was wearing it. Sasuke was wearing it, just like he was wearing the white knee high socks covering his legs and slipping into the light blue canvas shoes she'd never seen before. She knew this was Sasuke she was seeing, except at the same time it wasn't, but then he saw her eyes wide watching him.

He saw _her_.

She was too shocked to move as he pushed his way through the crowd across the station to her, snarled and dragged her into the empty area behind the wall he pushed her up against.

"You don't tell anyone," he hissed, and she nodded, because his breath was hot on her mouth and he was so very close, and even the frown wasn't enough to take away from the prettiness of his face. It shouldn't have suited him but in a way still did, and suddenly, the kinds of things she'd learned to ignore started to click into place.

The makeup missing in the morning she'd always find back in her carrier before the end of the day, the two or three tiny hairs once or twice she'd found on her razor that were too dark to be her own, her things Sasuke never gave a second glance that would always appear after she'd claimed to have lost them, all those instances she'd brushed aside, it couldn't have been him, but it was.

She turned her head away from thin lips warm and pink and so very close, looked down at the soft material of her dress he was wearing brushing against her thigh exposed by her shorts, and she shivered when his grip on her shoulders tightened, when he brought his knee closer between her legs.

She didn't normally regard herself as a forward kind of person, but it was okay then to forget herself in that moment, forget that she wasn't supposed to like her brother the way she did, because Sasuke had forgotten himself, too, alongside the person she thought he was supposed to be, and it wouldn't matter if she learned to like him like this if it meant he didn't push her away when she bridged the gap to cover his mouth with hers.

It was wrong, she knew, so very wrong, but here, it was just between the two of them, and he didn't seem to mind when he shuddered at the _I won't tell_ she whispered against his cheek.

Slowly, he drew back from her, but only to stare, stiff with the surprise on his face palpable and for once, he couldn't keep those more vulnerable emotions from coming to the surface.

But then he said thank you, low and soft, so very muffled before he left their little enclave to disappear into the crowd, left her behind, and she paid the 650 yen wasted to go back home because she didn't know what else to do.

And she still doesn't have any clue as to what she's doing, doesn't remember when it turned into this, but his fingers are already around her arm, and her hand is already over the pink and soft _so very soft_ material of the briefs straining against his bulge.

She used to wonder if Naruto knew, if he'd even suspected that his best friend and self-professed rival so many girls fawned over in school dressed up in his sister's clothes, but Naruto can't, because this is a part of Sasuke only she knows. The cute and pretty Sasuke who wears fairy skirts and loose teddy bear tees paired with doc marten boots, travelling all the way to Shinjuku so no one would notice, that boy isn't the one who Naruto picks fights with. That boy isn't the brother of the girl Naruto has a crush on.

Maybe Sasuke would have been if she never met him, if her parents never brought home the little boy who would grow into the Sasuke she met in the yard behind the school long after it was closed.

Maybe he'd still be that aloof little boy who didn't like to be touched and rarely spoke she didn't know how to approach, and maybe she wouldn't feel so guilty whenever she remembered those whispered cries of _niisan niisan niisan_ she'd hear from him during the night.

"Otouto," she said when she went to wake him one morning, trying the word unfamiliar on her tongue.

She wasn't that much older. In fact, they were in the same grade, and although her parents had insisted on introducing her as his older sister when she was already nine and Sasuke would no longer be eight, to refer to him as otouto, this boy she'd never known, it was only by her mom's suggestion she'd tried at all.

Yet that night is when his nightmares began to stop, and her brother not so little anymore, she stopped calling him otouto a long time ago.

With a shuddering breath, she watches her hand disappear beneath her own pleated skirt, drawn alongside skin only she was allowed to touch revealing his thighs almost as smooth as her own after she lifts the fabric above his waist.

He looks so different like this, so strangely like a girl wearing her school uniform, yet she doesn't mind any more than how strangely like a boy she almost looks with her hair cut short, wearing his shirt exposing her bra too wide across her shoulders and his pants almost too long settled low on her hips.

But despite how pretty he appears, he's not dainty. Neither of them are, and she runs her fingers through his hair she pulls as his hand on her back reaches to unhook the clasp of her bra.

He tugs the bra down and leaves it to sit around her waist. Her breast feels firmer held in his palm, nipple hardening against his hand slightly larger than her own, but then he squeezes too hard, too rough, and she bites back a gasp when she leans over to kiss him.

"Sasuke-kun," she says, raising her head, mesmerised by his lips parted and face flushed while her hand disappears underneath the soft elastic band around his waist. She touches him the way she's always wanted him to touch her, watches him tilt his head back with both hands trembling and reaching for her thighs.

"Neesan," he moans, arches at her fingers continuing to move.

"Don't say it," she whispers, hopes to quiet another murmur, yet she still hears the soft cries of _neesan_ _neesan neesan_, and the subtle difference of those two syllables interwoven begin to ring clear after too many times.

She chokes back a sob, looks down, remembers her promise of _I won't tell_ and how much she wanted to make herself understand then, how much she still tries to pretend she doesn't.

Because in the right light, lying on the grass, laid beneath her, he looks pretty _so very pretty_ and strong and all the kinds of things she wishes she could be, so she closes her eyes instead of thinking of all the _maybes_ and _what-ifs_ and underlying _whys_ following his silent whisper of his brother's name she's too afraid to say.

And she kisses him again.


End file.
